


Inktober Dragon Age Drabbles

by Eggsfordays



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy, Inktober, Inktober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-22 12:08:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eggsfordays/pseuds/Eggsfordays
Summary: All of my friends are doing Inktober. I can't draw, so I'm writing drabbles based on the prompts. Yes, I'm already a day late. Yes, I'm working on it. This is just for fun. Tags/characters/pairings updated with each entry... once I figure out what they'll be.





	1. Ring

The package sat unopened atop the chest at the foot of his bed. With a hand rubbing distractedly at the back of his neck, Cullen paced, his eyes never leaving the brown wrapped parcel. The note in Mia's elegant, slanting script lay on the bed, where he could see her even, orderly signature just below the "_Good luck!" _she'd penned in closing. Who knew that those two words could cause such an acute twist in his guts.

She'd done as he asked, damned her - a great deal quicker than he'd thought possible. To her credit, Mia had refrained from mocking, instead voicing her careful, yet enthusiastic approval. _You've been alone for far too long, brother. Perhaps it is time._

Yes, perhaps it was. 

The Winter Palace was every bit as ostentatious as he'd remembered. Their quarters all individually opulent, hers significantly more than his own. Not that he'd spent much time in his own. She had this way of convincing him to stay, wrapped in her slender soft arms beneath her silky soft sheets until he woke to curse the dawn that would pull her away, back into the clutches of duty and ceremony. "One day," she would purr into the curve of his ear. _One day._ He paused, took the box in his hands and turned it over slowly, feeling the smaller container within thump heavily to each side, heavy as the own thrum of his heart in his ribcage. _One day soon_.

Cullen sat heavily on the edge of his bed, feeling the blood rush in his ears as he tore open the brown paper. The box inside was simple, elegant. Deep blue with a raised edge of gold filigree, thick leather that gave slightly beneath his clumsy grip. His fingers shook as he gently pushed the lid open, the hinge smooth and secure, resisting a bit. Mia said she had recently had it cleaned, but he still found himself surprised by how it gleamed. Years before, he had last glimpsed it on his grandmother's hand, slim and delicate beneath the gnarl of her knuckle. The story was that her father had custom forged this piece, that he was a true artisan so moved by the beauty of his intended bride that he sculpted something he felt worthy of her love. 

The hallways began to roar to life, voices and footsteps. The meetings were done for the day. Cullen tucked the band back into the folds of the box, stowing the package and its wrappings underneath his pillow. _One day. But not today. _

When he stood, Pup immediately sprung into action, abandoning his bed beside the fire with an enthusiastic snuffle and a cocked head as if to say "_time to go?" _Cullen laughed softly under his breath and clicked his tongue. "Come on, then," he held open the door. "Into the yard we go."

Pup bounded ahead, making for the green expanse of grass at a full gallop, eliciting more than one angry shout that forced Cullen to suppress his grin. The dog had proven to be a bright spot of exuberant joy in the often stuffy palace grounds, something he needed during the long hours his lady love was kept busy answering the questions and outright accusations from the gathered council. Pup stopped his circular runs to scratch distractedly at his neck before rolling onto his side, presenting his ample belly. Cullen obeyed, crouching beside the lolling dog.

"If I ever need to find you, I suppose I can always follow the trail of carnage." Cullen looked up to see Ellana crossing the lawn, holding a rather ragged shoe in one hand. He extended his own hand, allowing her to deposit the soppy wet slipper into his grasp. 

"Damn. Was it yours?" he asked, surveying the remains.

She shook her head, biting playfully on her lower lip. "Josie's. I fear you'll have to answer for this soon enough." She gave a playful wink that sent his head straight dizzy.

Ellana dropped down beside pup, allowing the animal to nuzzle into her neck. "At least someone's happy to see me."

"You know we both are," he quipped, settling onto the grass beside her. "I take it you're done, for the evening at least?"

She shook her head. "I wish. I've been invited to some dismal dinner that will have far too many courses to keep my interest and leave me bored and desparate for an exit. Perhaps you could provide a distraction? Spring me early?"

"Send an urgent missive that needs your attention?"

"I was hoping for something a bit more dramatic."

"Light a fire in the east wing?"

"There we are. We're on the right track, but still-"

"Still not good enough," he pretended to ponder the thought. "I suppose I could drop in from the ceiling."

"Best light the fire first."

"Smoke does bring drama."

"Wear a mask. Stage a kidnapping."

"Demand a ransom."

She leaned back, staring up at the trees. "Money? Jewels? Rare horses?"

"We can do better than that."

"Maybe all the instruments from that damned orchestra they keep parading out."

"They'd need to throw in the musicians. And perhaps a few jugglers."

"Where on earth would we keep them?"

"We'll need a _much _larger hideout. Maybe you could demand a chateau."

"If they gave me a chateau, they'd know where we're hiding."

She laughed. "This is why I love you, you know. Your cunning."

"Is that what you're calling it?"

Ellana mock-gasped, covering Pup's ears. "Not in front of the dog. He's just a baby."

"You're shaming _me_?"

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you."

"Marry me, then."

The words slipped out before he could stop himself, watching her eyes go from amusement to uncertainty, and then surprise. "You're serious," she said incredulously.

"I am," he said, equally as incredulously.

"Are you?"

Cullen cleared his throat. "I am."

She sat forward, her hands resting between her bent knees. He found himself speaking much too quickly. "I had planned this differently. There was a speech, and some flowers. Moonlight. And, the dog wasn't here."

"Planned?"

"There's a ring."

She frowned. "You _are _serious."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Ellana shook her head slowly. "I hadn't anticipated- are you _certain_?"

"Is this a no?"

"It isn't."

His heart thudded painfully. "It doesn't much feel like a yes."

She turned to him, the intensity in her gaze causing him to shiver slightly, despite the warm afternoon. "You're serious."

"I... I am. Marry me, will you?"

She made a funny sort of little half-smile. "This wasn't how I expected this."

His hand distractedly found the back of his neck again. "I'm sorry, I did mean to research the... the Dalish traditions."

"Yes," the smile spread as she jumped to her feet. "I fully expect you to slaughter a hart beneath a full moon."

"Slaughter-" Cullen's eyebrows furrowed. 

She sighed. "If there's no hart, then we'll have to make do. Show me this ring."

As they walked hand-in-hand back toward his quarters, he paused. "You were kidding about the hart, weren't you?"

Ellana laughed, "Shut up and kiss me."

"You still haven't said yes."

She stood on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Yes," she whispered.

_Maker_.


	2. Mindless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a loose work based on a large piece I've had kicking around for several years.

_Kadan._

It was a word, one uttered with intent, a meaning of stone and steel, singular and solid purpose. She had asked him what it meant, and he told her "friend," as if such a simple concept were one he needed to explain. She's smiled, given an enthusiastic nod. Later, she said it back, not knowing the way it caused his chest to ache as if he'd been hit with a sword hilt. Not knowing the way he'd laid awake that night in the dark of his tent, repeating the way she'd said it. To _him_.

The darkspawn had ravaged the lands, like an infection through flesh. Behind them was nothing but scar tissue and the smell of burnt flesh, wails in the night punctuated by horrifying screams, and then silence. Such a strange time to have his thoughts haunted by such a singular concept. 

He had prepared himself to die in that cage. Told himself that this was just, right. Concepts that the Mother had echoed, concepts that he did not always agree with, but that felt true in the moment. What he had done was not human, they had told him. But neither was he. And so he awaited death with a sense of peace and calm, a sense of purpose. Until she came with her small fingers working into the lock the same way they worked into his mind and heart. He could see the derision and distrust on her companion's faces as she worked to free him, for some greater calling that he was incapable of understanding. 

The redheaded one, the one who seemed addled by religion and her own importance in this world, spoke of a great Maker who oversaw all their actions and gave their lives meaning and direction. It was a ridiculous idea, a fairy tale they told one another to make sense of the terrors they saw in the dark. And yet, he wondered if perhaps this Maker had a purpose for those who did not share the bloodline of his followers. What other explanation could there be for his love for this tiny elf?

For that is what this was, it was love as terrifying and dizzying as the songs and stories had claimed. Looking at her across the campfire made him feel as if he were the one enflamed. At times it was nauseating. He was here to swing a sword and to end this blight before he made his way back to the Arishok. He was a tool to be used for the great of the Qun. These feelings were selfish and impossible. Yet he could not quell them, no matter how hard he tried.

Years would pass, but the memory of her would remain. The glint of her hair in the sun, her laugh, the way she nocked an arrow into her bow, always breathing a small puff of air before the release. Love is a terrible thing that carves a name, a face, so deep into your flesh that you can never be truly free of it; not even if there are thousands of miles and barriers between you and the object of this cursed affection.

_Sten_,

_I promised I would write, and yet this is something I failed to do as frequently as I'd intended. Time has passed and the Wardens are slow to rebuild. The threat is gone, yet it feels another lurks just beyond the horizon. My dreams are unsettling, and I fear this is the moment I knew would come. I had hoped that we would find some solution, Alistair spoke of a woman who had the blighted blood cured, although none are sure why or how. He is busy now, ruling Ferelden and I fear our crusade has been abandoned._

_I have not told him of my dreams, I fear the guilt would overwhelm him. And so I will begin my journey. _

_I wanted to say goodbye, while I still have my wits somewhat about me. I know you would tease they were never fully intact._

_I am sorry there wasn't more time._

_Until we meet in another life, I remain your Kadan. And you mine._

_-S._

He'd hated the Deep Roads, all those miles of rock and darkness between their small party and the world above. It had seemed futile to chase the Darkspawn to these caverns, where they had the advantage in both speed and vision. You never let an enemy lure you into their home territories, that is the way to find yourself dead and the battle lost. To think of her here, now, in the dank space where they made their dens. He repeated his reasons for being in this place to himself, quietly, a mantra. _I will not leave her to rot, alone in the dark._

Her trail had gone cold two days' journey into the crumbling emptiness of this place. No longer did he find the signs of campfire or bedding, seeming as if she'd abandoned the idea of both overnight. Yet he found no evidence of battle or other ailment that would have halted her progress. Still, one recognized the signs of decline. Her fires had grown shoddy as he drew deeper into the rock. She'd stopped trying to contain them in rings of stone, stopped snuffing them out fully before moving on. Here and there, evidence of where the fire had burned itself out, scorching the surrounding stone. Now, a shoe. Then, her pack, contents tumbled out in a haphazard manner. Sten knew he grew close to where she had taken her final breath, the signs of a dying mind providing the path.

It was on the fourth day that he finally found that place, but not in the way he'd believed. There, among the remains of a crossroads, there was a sound in the dim shadows of the corner. Ragged breath turned snarl, scrape of bare feet across the dusty stone. The glint from his torchlight showing features familiar, yet twisted. 

If she recognized him, she gave no sign, instead circling slowly, planning her route of attack. Sten grimly reached for the sword strapped to his back, his jaw gritting as he watched her approach. 

"I will not leave you to rot, alone in the dark," he whispered as she finally lunged for him. "I will bring you back to the light, _Kadan_."


End file.
